


Honey in my Apple-Cinnamon Tea

by Lemon_Pony



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 1970s, Alternate Universe, Angst, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minho's point of view, OT8, Stray Kids work at a publishing house, Swearing, Time Skips, i'm sorry in advance, not beta read we die like men, some present day things mentioned such as a song by Lana Del Rey, this gets really fucking sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25808920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemon_Pony/pseuds/Lemon_Pony
Summary: “Race you to the bottom!” Jisung suddenly yelped before riding down at rapid speed, followed by that laughter that made Minho feel oh so warm and happy.“Hey, you got an unfair head start!” He shouted back while picking up speed and laughing along. Minho felt something new, like little butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. It was strange but not uncomfortable. Minho wasn’t sure why the latter was making him feel such a thing, but he decided to push the thought aside and enjoy the moment, swooping past Jisung and hearing the younger laughing while complaining behind him.A midnight ride on two bikes.That’s all it took.The start of it all.----aka. Love blossoms between Minho and Jisung while working at a publishing house together but living as a gay couple in the 1970s is a struggle in itself. And so, 4 years later, Minho now lives in a small coastal town in Italy, reminiscing his past with Jisung.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han & Lee Minho | Lee Know, Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	Honey in my Apple-Cinnamon Tea

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this while feeling the summertime sadness in 2019 after watching ‘Call Me By Your Name’ but didn’t finish until this summer. So here’s the result of a bunch of heavy feels poured into wannabe-artsy writing over the course of a year while showing my appreciation towards Minsung.  
> If you want, before reading this you can become familiar with the song White Mustang by Lana Del Rey. It’s gonna be referenced a few times. And please ignore the fact that they’re living in the 1970s and listening to a song made in 2017. I didn’t do much historical research before writing this.
> 
> There’s also time skips going back and forth between 1975 and 1979 so I hope reading this isn’t too confusing. I tried my best to make the time jumps clear so pay attention to the dates when they're mentioned.
> 
> Enjoy reading!

**July 1979.**

A vase filled with simple daisies sat on the dining room table. The sun shone through the windowpane and sheer curtains embroidered with flower designs. A kind widow living nearby had given them to Minho when she heard he had come from far away into her little hometown in northern Italy and wanted to make him feel like home. Tucking away his writing equipment and heading to his wardrobe, Minho was getting ready to head out. Putting on a beige button-up with sleeves that reached his elbows. Looking at his reflection, fixing his hair to have a slight side part. Lost in thought about what he’s going to pick up from the farmer’s market.

Hearing a scratch at the door, he knows it’s the neighbour’s dog looking for a treat, often showing up to Minho’s door around mid-day. Minho’s three cats aren’t too fond of the dog but don’t mind as long as he doesn’t come inside. Stepping out to offer the dog some chicken from yesterday’s dinner, Minho sees a young couple bicycling past his house. The town is small so Minho has seen them pass by a few times but doesn’t know the brunette girl or the curly-haired boy personally. He is happy for them but there is always a tingle of bitterness seeing the two of them pass by.

Together, happy, riding bicycles.

——

**March 1975.**

Minho sits hunched over his desk, it’s been a busy day at the publishing house pushing out the day’s newspaper. Their clients insisted on making major last-minute formatting changes and Minho has rushed through the past day doing his best to meet the deadline. They had to work overtime but the team managed to get the paper done and ready to print by the end of the long day.

“Good job everyone! Dinner is on me,” declares Chan, the team leader, as Minho and his tired colleagues cheer from behind their desks. The little team shuffles over to the nearest restaurant to enjoy barbecue together to celebrate. They haven’t had a team dinner in a while and Minho enjoys finally catching up with his work friends since commonly their days are too busy to spend time loitering around the office chatting about. Chan is a great leader, kind to his team but never lets an excuse to be lazy pass, always encouraging hard and honest work. This is how they’ve stayed at the top of their game, having a good reputation at the JYP publishing house as one of the most effective teams.

Sitting at the dinner, Minho mainly chatted with the men who have been working at the publishing house for about as long as him, Changbin, and Chan. It wasn’t until he takes a break to add more meat to the grill and glance over to the other end of the long table where some of the newer additions to their team are sitting together. Minho didn’t mean to stare but the man with round cheeks and a bright smile on his face catches his eye. Jisung had been working at the publishing house for only a couple of months. He got the job due to being a long time friend of Chan. The two of them along with Changbin worked for a different publishing house before Chan and Changbin left due to bad working conditions. Jisung had stayed for financial security but soon followed his two hyungs. Minho had introduced himself on Jisung’s first day but only saw the latter around the office, never really getting the chance to know him properly. Since their team only consisted of eight members, the two weren’t complete strangers but Minho couldn’t say they were exactly friends either.

Jisung glances towards Minho snapping the elder out of his thoughts. Noticing he was caught staring, Minho quickly averts his gaze to the meat sizzling on the barbecue. From the corner of his eye, he notices Jisung’s gaze lingering for a moment before returning to his conversation with three colleagues who Minho knew to be named Felix, Hyunjin, and Jeongin. He didn’t know much about them either but knew they were all younger than him and did their jobs well.

“Aish, Minho! Turn the meat, you’re going to burn it.” Changbin shoutsfrom across the table. Chan laughs as Minho’s ears redden from embarrassment.

“Everyone, look over here!”

Seungmin has gotten up and is in the process of setting up a camera. As everyone turns their heads and smile, the team’s photographer rushes back to his seat seconds before the camera snaps a photo of everyone gathered around the table.

The dinner goes by in a breeze. In good company, they all completely lost track of time, glad to finally have the time to bond over something else than deadlines and headlines for future papers. The sun has sunk beyond the horizon hours ago, leaving the sky dark with only the slightest tint of orange left by the time the team makes their way out of the restaurant. They would’ve stayed longer but after Chan glanced at his wristwatch and remembered they all have work the following day, he ushered everyone up and out and told them to get home safely. Minho says his thanks to his leader and goodbyes to the team before heading to the nearest bus stop.

While making his way up the mainly empty street, he hears quick steps behind him. Minho is taken by surprise when he sees a familiar face pop up next to him.

“Hi Minho! I heard you were taking the bus, do you mind if I come along?” Jisung asks slightly out of breath after running to catch up with Minho, giving a slight nod as a sign of formality when he reaches the elder.

“No, no of course not, it’s nice to see someone familiar taking the bus too,” Minho replies.

They walk along under the streetlights, chatting about work and the weather as any casual work acquaintances do. Still knowing very little of each other’s personal lives, neither of them knew what else they could chat about but Minho didn’t mind talking about such uninteresting topics. He felt strangely delighted to simply be chatting with this specific colleague and happy to hear that Jisung was doing well, having caught up well despite being one of the newest members at the office.

Reaching the deserted bus stop, Minho glances at his watch and groans after realizing they had just missed the last bus by only a few minutes. This simply meant a very long walk home which Minho had experienced before but wasn’t too keen on doing after a long day when the time was nearing midnight.

“Well, I guess we’re walking. At least I have you to keep me awake so I don’t fall asleep on the way home.” This made Jisung laugh. Minho felt a strange, new sense of warmness in his chest when he heard that laugh.

Jisung glanced around and saw a pair of bikes leaning against a decaying building nearby.

“What if we ride those?” The younger man suggested.

Minho wasn’t keen on stealing someone’s bikes but hesitantly followed the latter after he confirmed that he’s seen the bikes sitting there without anyone claiming them for a few weeks now.

“Come on, we can return them tomorrow by biking into the city in the morning. I mean we can still walk instead but you didn’t seem too happy about it either,” Jisung glanced over with mischievous eyes, “and I’m sure whoever owns the bikes won’t even notice they’re missing.” Minho couldn’t disagree and the younger man did make a fair a point. Something about the idea also felt appealingly rebellious.

Kicking the bike into motion and pedalling after the younger man, Minho felt the cool night breeze swipe his hair back with loose strands tickling his forehead. They mainly biked in silence until they reached a peak of a small hill.

“Race you to the bottom!” Jisung suddenly yelped before riding down at rapid speed, followed by that laughter that made Minho feel oh so warm and happy.

“Hey, you got an unfair head start!” He shouted back while picking up speed and laughing along. Minho felt something new, like little butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. It was strange but not uncomfortable. Minho wasn’t sure why the latter was making him feel such a thing, but he decided to push the thought aside and enjoy the moment, swooping past Jisung and hearing the younger laughing while complaining behind him.

A midnight ride on two bikes.

That’s all it took.

The start of it all.

——

**July 1979.**

The air is hot due to the midday sun but the breeze coming from the nearby body of water is pleasantly cool and soothing. The sky is clear, not a cloud in sight. The streets are filled with kids blowing bubbles and screaming while spraying each other with water guns. Their laughter echoes through the streets mixing with cawing seagulls flocking around small streets filled with restaurants and street vendors.

It truly feels like a whole other world compared to Seoul. The town isn’t awfully small but still unknown and hidden enough to draw itself away from the rest of the world.

Lost in thought, enjoying the atmosphere of this town he has called home for 3 years now, Minho reaches the local market square faster than expected. He walks up to a familiar stand carrying fresh tangerines and mandarins. Minho enjoys buying from this specific seller. Not only is his produce great but Minho also knows that the man carries excellent tea but only sells if specifically asked. It’s little secrets and discoveries like this that keep life exciting.

“The usual?”

“You know me well.”

“Apple-cinnamon it is.” The old man gives a kind smile while reaching over looking for the aforementioned product, “You know, I always wanted to ask, what is a young man in his mid-20s from Korea doing in a tiny seaside town in Italy?”

Minho can’t hide the fact that he is taken aback by the question. He should be used to it by now, so many people inquiring the same thing, but it never ceases to make him slightly uncomfortable. He often turns to his lackluster skills in speaking Italian as an excuse but in all honesty, Minho hopes to simply forget his reason for why he’s in Italy in the first place.

“Home had too many painful memories for me to stay.”

Simple enough. A response that leaves a bit too much room for further inquiry but an answer nevertheless.

The old man simply keeps smiling with a knowing look in his eyes while handing over a tin of tea and a bag of tangerines to Minho.

Soon enough, Minho is back at home, the heavy front door of his small home shutting away the laughter and sunshine. Standing in his dim entry hall, the sounds of the street feeling more distant than ever. Finally being aware of himself, Minho’s heart sunk. As if a stone had been dropped into a dark, cold lake. Slowly sinking into unknown depths. Landing somewhere it would never be found.

Shaking away his thoughts, Minho makes his way to the kitchen, filled with natural light gently dancing on the walls. The kitchen feels almost homey, an atmosphere where one could feel at ease yet Minho’s mind is a million miles away, probably somewhere in the bottom of that unknown lake somewhere, anywhere, laying alongside his heart.

Switching on the radio, hoping for some sort of noise to occupy his headspace rather than his own thoughts fogging it up. He had grown very fond of the Italian radio channels. With his limited knowledge, only being able to pick bits and pieces of what is being said makes the radio especially great in Minho’s opinion, the music is also always a surprise.

The commentator is just finishing up introducing the next song. Minho thought he recognized a familiar name but can’t bother to think too much into it, simply trying to focus on the background noise, stacking tangerines neatly into a ceramic bowl resting atop his kitchen counter.

_Packing all my things for the summer._

_Laying on my bed it’s a bummer cause I_

_didn’t call when I got your number but_

_I liked you a lot…_

Oh.

That’s why it sounded so familiar.

Fuck.

It’s too late.

The memories rush back into Minho’s mind, the thoughts he had tried so hard to steer away.

Vision becoming blurry as tears start brimming his eyes.

Jisung.

The feeling of Jisung’s soft fingertips dancing against his skin.

The smell of Jisung’s shampoo lingering in Minho’s sheets after a weekend together.

Jisung’s beautiful laughter echoing in the hallways of Minho’s tiny apartment back in Seoul, hidden away from the outer world which could be so cruel.

Jisung. Jisung. Jisung.

A quiet sob escapes from Minho’s throat. Snapping away from the mess that his mind has become. The tangerines are all over his kitchen floor, rolling into the shadows cast by the dining table and chairs.

Minho finds himself clutching onto the small rectangular metal container of apple-cinnamon tea. It feels cold in a pair of broken hands.

——

**June 1975.**

Minho yelps as he almost drops his cup of hot water due to a stranger bumping into him. Silently cursing under his breath, annoyed by the mass of people around him. He knew this time of day, right when he and Jisung decided to stop by, the local cafe would be overcrowded as always. But the younger insisted on it so of course Minho couldn’t refuse.

“Hyung, you’re so clumsy.” Jisung laughs while following a helpless Minho scurrying over to a table before anybody else gets a chance to almost knock him over.

“Hey, it was clearly that girl who bumped into me! I have no say in whether I get pushed around in a place like this with a cup of hot water in my hand, ” Minho pouts while plopping down at a window seat.

Jisung follows him effortlessly, slipping past the narrow spaces in-between chairs and tables.

“Well, if it’s not you, it must the universe punishing you for drinking tea.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Tea is disgusting, it’s basically warm water with bitter flavouring.”

“Excuse me, coffee is basically bitter liquid as well.”

Jisung takes in a deep breath ready to defend his preferred beverage but lets out a chuckle instead, “Fair enough, you got a point.”

“And anyway, if you add honey to it, it ain’t so bitter,” Minho adds while dripping a tea bag into his cup.

Jisung inhales the warm scent of his own bitter drink, looking down at it with thoughtful eyes.

“My mom used to say that I had honey-colored skin but I never saw where she was coming from. To me, I always looked very pale…”

Minho takes a long look at the man sitting across from him. Now that he really paid attention, Jisung did have a very warm undertone to his skin. Had Jisung always looked so beautiful? The longer he stared the more he began noticing the small details such as Jisung’s long eyelashes and slightly crooked front teeth. Why did that make his heart race so much? The younger’s voice faded into mere background noise while all Minho could do was give slight nods and hums of agreement while his eyes were lost. Lost in Jisung.

Realizing the man in front of him was now glancing back at him in silence clearly awaiting a response to something.

Crap. Now it was Minho’s turn to say something back. He had no clue where the conversation had trailed off to. All he could recall was the last thing Jisung had mentioned.

Scrambling for anything to cover up the fact that the younger man had clearly caught him staring into space, “I mean, you are sweet like honey, you know, like your mom used to say about your skin being the color of honey.”

Did he seriously just say that. _Minho, you absolute fucking moron. Who says that?_

Expecting the worst and feeling a slight burn creeping up to his cheeks, he felt a confusing sense of relief when Jisung burst into a gentle laugh.

That laugh. It felt nice being able to make Jisung laugh.

“Hyung, I guess that’s one way to compliment someone,” the latter replies in a joking tone.

“You’re pretty sweet yourself but your opinion about tea still sucks.”

All Minho can do is grunt in disagreement and turn his reddening face towards the window while the younger’s giggles hoover around their table.

June evenings were warm and the sun had only begun to set by the time the two exited the cafe. Jisung had offered to drive Minho home, out of kindness, at least that’s how Minho would’ve guessed. The older gladly accepting the offer since he himself had no car.

The ride wasn’t anything fancy. Really just a hand-me-down from Jisung’s older brother but it had made transportation to work much easier. Since they lived in the same area, Jisung often offered Minho a ride to work.

It had a comforting hum that could be heard over the radio, Lana Del Rey’s ‘ _White Mustang_ ’ playing from a cassette tape.

_Caught up in my dreams and forgetting_

_I’ve been acting like armageddon ‘cause you_

_Held me in your arms just a little too tight…_

Minho enjoyed watching the buildings and street lights drift by, the sky slowly turning pink as they drove on. Feeling like a dream, wishing that this ride could go on forever. They didn’t talk much, they didn’t have to. Minho had grown surprisingly comfortable around Jisung. Even when nothing was said, silences shared with the man sitting beside him, currently steering the wheel while slightly humming along to the song clearly familiar to him, even moments like these were _comfortable_.

However, the dream of pink skies and blurred street lights slowly faded away as Jisung pulled up in front of Minho’s apartment building. The feeling fading away as Minho thanks Jisung for the ride and opens the car door.

Ready to hop out but coming to a sudden halt when sensing a hand on top of his own. Minho is frozen, he’s sure of his cheeks slowly turning pink, completely aware of the fact that Jisung just grabbed his hand. It’s not common for him and his male friends to hold hands but it has happened before and he hadn’t thought much of it in the previous few occurrences, but why is he reacting so strongly to it now?

Daring to glance at Jisung, the latter is staring at the steering wheel, his cheeks a rosy shade, just like Minho’s. The only indication that time hasn’t completely stopped is the distant voice of Lana Del Rey on the radio.

Finally, Jisung takes a shaky breath and looks at Minho although not being able to hold eye contact without glancing elsewhere every few seconds. He brushes his thumb on the back of Minho’s hand gently before letting go, lifting his own next to his other on the steering wheel, a gentle smile spreading over his features.

“I’m glad you didn’t have a negative reaction to me holding your hand.”

All Minho can do is nod as a silent goodnight as the latter drives away.

Standing at the door of his apartment, thinking about holding that soft hand once again, someday.

——

**July 1979.**

Minho is sitting at his desk with a cup of tea and a pen in hand. The street outside has quieted down alongside the setting sun though the radio is on, playing distantly in the background some Italian song he doesn’t know nor understand. Staring at the words in front of him, reading them over again and again. Minho often turned to writing poetry to cope with his feelings. Since he didn’t really know how to put anything into words, it was comforting getting his feelings out even if they made absolutely no sense on paper.

He’s been living in Italy for 3 years and 8 months now, only keeping contact with his parents but leaving everyone else he knew without a trace. Nobody from his past has visited him nor written to him. Minho doesn’t mind, it’s exactly what he intended to happen when he left his home.

Why Italy? Minho isn’t exactly sure. All he knows is that he took a single backpack worth of his belongings and flew to the first country far away which he could afford airfare. Thus he had coincidentally ended up in a small beach town in Italy that offered cheap tourist flights only twice every year.

It hurts, it hurts so much. Thinking of to what used to be and how he could never get it back. Thinking of the one man who had made him feel higher than he had ever been and whom he was once upon a time ready to give everything for.

But what makes it all even worse is that he has nobody to blame for it all.

Maybe all along they both knew it would end up like this.

They both knew they couldn’t exist in this world.

They weren’t allowed to.

“It’s just how the world works,” Jisung would often say that.

_——_

**August 1975.**

The floor is a mess of papers, half-finished paragraphs, sentences with no clear beginning or end, words blocked out and rewritten with a messy hand. Minho groans and falls backwards on top of the mess from the spot where he was previously sitting cross-legged. Him and Jisung were at the latter’s place finishing up a report which had to be fixed by the following day. Chan had been offered a huge, important project with an incredibly short deadline and of course the leader who himself never slept thought his whole team was ready to do the same. And thus, Minho and Jisung were running on sugar and caffeine while proofreading an entire novel in a single night. To put it simply, Minho hadn’t felt so stressed in ages. Luckily he was working with a man he would gladly spend as many waking hours with in a day as possible.

It had been 5 months since the publishing house team dinner when Minho and Jisung first became well acquainted with each other. To say the least, their relationship had definitely moved along since then, maybe a bit too quickly. They had never really talked about it out loud but the secret hand holding under tables and comforting caresses in spaces nobody could see was a clear sign that they weren’t the _average work friends_ anymore. Minho was more than glad with where he and Jisung stood at the moment but couldn’t lie that was curious to see how much further they could go. This was also the first time that Minho had ever been so close to another human being so it was foreign and scary territory, especially when exploring that territory with another man in the 70s.

“Ugh, I’m not getting anywhere with this! Whoever wrote this has no clue how to build a plot and uses way too many commas. My eyes physically refuse to keep reading this mess.”

Jisung exclaims while slamming a folder on the floor next to him and standing up to stretch his back which has been hunched over a typewriter for the past three hours.

“I’m gonna go make another cup of coffee. You want some disgusting tea?”

“I know you’re trying to lighten the mood but don’t you dare insult my tea while I’m this close to jumping out of that window and running over to Chan’s house to strangle him for making us do this shit in a single night. But yes, please do get me some tea.”

Jisung snickers tiredly while walking towards the doorway to leave the room.

When he returns with the two cups, Minho is over at the radio flipping through the channels.

“Thought we could use some music to lighten the mood while we take a much-needed break.”

_*radio static*_

_Summer’s meant for love and leaving_

_I was such a fool for believing that you_

_Could change all the ways you’ve been living_

_But you just couldn’t stop…_

_*radio static*_

“Oh! Go back to the previous channel, I like that one.”

“You mean that song on your ‘Road Jams’ cassette? It’s quite sad don’t you think.” Minho replies while looking up at the younger man.

Jisung gives a silent shrug while setting down the drinks and offers his hand to the elder.

“Well, you know the song. Dance with me?”

Minho hesitantly takes the hand and lets the latter pull him up from the floor. He feels a familiar hand snake around his waist and hold him close while soft locks of hair brush his cheek while Jisung rests his head on Minho’s shoulder. Minho’s right hand is loosely stretched out, gently intertwining his fingers with Jisung’s delicate ones.

They begin moving slowly. Minho had some prior dance experience so he takes the lead although their current dancing is more like simple small stepping and swaying from side to side. He doesn’t mind it though. He is way too tired and comfortable to try showing off his skills in that moment.

“You remember that first time when I held your hand?” Jisung muffles into Minho’s shoulder.

“Of course.”

“I was so fucking scared.”

Minho somehow knew the feeling all too well. Whenever he replayed that moment in Jisung’s car on that pink evening, he contemplated what had led them to that point and where it would head to next. He thought about a million alternate scenarios of what would've changed if he had said or done something even the slightest bit different. But more than anything, he was surprised by how much he had longed for something like that to eventually happen. Everything that had eventually come after was something he could’ve only ever dreamt of happening. If anything, it all felt unreal. But despite everything he could’ve asked about that moment, most of all he wondered,

“Why’d you do it?”

Jisung hummed in thought before replying, “You ever get that feeling in situations when you don’t really know why you’re doing something but it just feels right? That’s how I felt that day— next to you in my car.”

The aged street light outside the window flickers while the two of them dance in the dimly lit living room. The radio had a slight static to it. A feeling of finally being so close yet still so far away lost somewhere on two nonexistent planets on opposite sides of the stars. But what if they came together, even only for a moment? What would the stars say…

“Can I kiss you?”

Minho’s question, just barely above a whisper, sends Jisung’s head darting away from his shoulder where it had been resting comfortably only to land in a spot inches away from Minho’s face. The pair gazing at each other, peering into the opposing orbs they had fallen so deeply into.

“Yes.” ––

…but does it really matter what the stars would say? What if they never knew anyway.

Breaking away from the sweet moment, Jisung’s face escapes back to the comfort of Minho’s neck and the elder can’t help but smile at the endearing actions of the smaller man. The song has long ago switched to something else but the pair didn’t even notice.

“Must be a real power song, bringing both of us to jump into situations we weren't comfortable with whatsoever,” Jisung muffles from the crevice of the elder’s neck.

Minho can’t help but chuckle, “but are so worth jumping into.”

The pair continues to sway gently as if afraid of breaking something so delicate that could fall away if they let go or went too fast.

After a moment of silence, Jisung says in a tone filled with sadness, “You know this isn’t right.”

Minho needs no explanation. He knows they shouldn’t be doing this. By simply holding onto the latter in his arms in such a way, he is risking everything.

“I know,” Minho lets out a sigh before continuing, “it’s so unfair. I just… I want to hold you and not have the fear of what would happen if somebody saw.”

Minho feels Jisung starting to take shaky breaths while tightening his embrace, clinging on the back of Minho’s shirt like his life depended on it.

The elder knows the younger man is crying.

“I want that too,” Jisung replied, barely louder than a whisper.

“but we can’t have what they have. It’s just how the world works.”

——

**July 1979.**

Minho feels a soft paw prodding at his cheek. The sun is up but Minho could tell it was still the early hours of the morning. The street was quiet and it felt like the world had gone absolutely still for a few calming hours. Minho got up and headed to the kitchen to feed his three waiting felines. He noticed the pain in his back from falling asleep at his desk whilst filling the cat bowls.

He often fell asleep at his desk. The inspiration just carried on deep into the night, as if Minho’s hand refused to let go of the pen while the rest of his body was completely exhausted and ready to rest.

While Soon-ie, Doong-ie, and Dori were busy in the kitchen, Minho made his way back to his desk. The teabag had dried up in his empty cup and his uncapped pen had rolled onto the floor.

Cleaning up last night’s mess, Minho’s eyes landed on the last thing he had worked on before passing out from crying and fatigue.

Minho knew he shouldn’t re-read it, shouldn’t remind himself of all that pain. He knew he should just scrap the poem. Toss it out or even better, burn it. Completely forget it ever existed. But as his eyes glazed over the messy characters filling up multiple short lines, he felt a heaviness in his heart.

After creative writing became his main source of income since moving to Italy, Minho noticed just how much he misses his work at the publishing house. Sure, some assignments weren’t as great as others but it had its own unique joy to it.

He also holds a sadness in his heart about the day he left the publishing house for good. He never properly said goodbye to his team.

But he can’t blame himself. His last weeks in Korea had not been good ones. At the time his mind couldn’t comprehend how quickly everything was about to change.

It was only Jisung.

——

**November 1975.**

With the letter of resignation dropped off on Chan’s desk and a cardboard box filled with personal belongings in his arms, Minho is riding on anxiety while quickening his steps darting out of the office building which he has grown so familiar to. The place that had given him the opportunity to explore his passion for writing. Not exactly his own works but still a step in the right direction. The place had also introduced him to some of the most wonderful people he had ever worked with.

On any usual day, precisely at this time of the morning, he would be making his way inside, slapping the back of Seungmin’s head while taking the last turn to settle down at his desk for the day, leaving the younger grumbling while rubbing the slight pain on his head. But the team’s photographer wasn’t at the office, his empty and neat desk only reflecting off the early morning rays. Minho knew the latter was only getting ready at this hour, somewhere far away in his own cozy apartment in Seoul. And by the time he is ready to hop on the bus and make his way to the city and office building, Minho was already heading out. Seungmin would arrive unknowing of the fact that he would never receive another slap on the back of his head from a pesky but dear coworker. Maybe he would notice the empty desk across from him. Maybe he would ask around if anybody had seen Minho that day. Maybe he wouldn’t even notice, too immersed in his photos to look up and notice anything himself until Chan delivers the news to the group of Minho’s resignation.

The elevator seems to take forever to get down.

_Please please please go faster._

As the sliding doors open Minho is darting out only seeing the big front doors of the building in front of him. They seem like miles away. The building seems to be holding onto him, begging him to stay, tugging on his feet, forcing him to turn around, make his way back up the elevator to his desk, tossing the letter into the bin and pretending as if nothing has changed.

Almost, almost out…

then _he_ was there.

There he was, Jisung, walking right in through the front doors as he does five times every week at his usual time, way too early in the morning. Buried in his thick jacket to shield him from the cold autumn winds outside.

Minho knew Jisung was going to be there. He knew he had to be out of the building before the latter showed up yet he had stalled around for too long. Did he do it to himself? Did something deep inside him hope to see the younger man despite avoiding him for weeks? Despite never feeling such hurt and rage towards another human being before as he did towards the man standing right there in front of him, he still hoped to see a glimpse of that familiar face he had once adored beyond anything else in life.

But Jisung walked in, walked past. Without a word, without a glance, his steady steps continued past Minho right towards the elevator.

Jisung let him go, just like that.

That was the last piece. As if the one single brick that made the entire wall fall down when removed. Minho knew that there was no reason for him to stay. He couldn’t live this life which involved the man who had made him flourish like a garden, then shrivel and die after a single phone call.

After tossing his box of belongings into the backseat and slamming the driver’s side door shut, Minho dug into the glove compartment, pulled out a cassette tape. Tens of songs started playing in his head bringing him back to all the times him and Jisung were together, including ‘ _White Mustang_ ’. The cassette holding onto so many moments and feelings was tossed out of the window in seconds. There he left it, on the pavement of the grey parking lot on that gloomy November morning as he sped away with only two things in mind. A vague plan of buying a one-way plane ticket somewhere far away and an image of the golden band on Jisung’s ring finger when he had walked in through the front doors of the office building that morning.

——

**July 1979.**

Eight faces smiled at him from a moment captured in the photograph. Some of them even looked like they were laughing, holding up drinks and pieces of meat in their chopsticks. On the bottom corner of the worn-out frame, Minho could make out the words, “JYP Publishing House, SKZ Team Dinner - 1975”. That single day in March four years ago was the beginning and end of everything. Minho wonders how different his life would be if he had never agreed to take those bikes with Jisung to ride home. He would’ve kept himself distant from the latter, walking home and coming to work the next day just as much as a casual acquaintance to the younger man as he had been in the beginning on that dinner. They would’ve never become closer, leading them to never going to cozy coffee shops together, nor taking midnight drives together, nor dancing together in dimly lit rooms with the curtains closed so nobody could see. They would’ve never become comfortable enough to hug each other, to open up to each other, to fall for each other.

Jisung and Minho would have remained as mere strangers only working in the same publishing house. Only having ties by being acquaintances with the same people. Occasionally passing by each other near the coffee machine or the printer. Speaking to each other only during team meetings about business matters and creative ideas.

But they did take those bikes which lead to each and every single incredible moment which they shared until they turned bitter and remorseful on that October evening when Minho heard from Felix through a phone call that Jisung was getting married. A marriage intended for two families to benefit from each other’s wealth. Minho knew this was bound to happen to Jisung at some point but the least he expected was the latter to be the one to tell him when the time actually came. Not a freckled co-worker.

Minho stayed up all night after that phone call. Angry and enraged, but most of all heartbroken. Minho knew he and Jisung would’ve found ways to work around the marriage, sneak about unnoticed as they had already done for months, find a way—

But for the following weeks, Minho dwelled indoors, skipped work, let the phone ring unanswered, concluding in his solitude that there was no happy ending for the two of them. How long would it be until somebody found out? How was he supposed to maneuver his life around Jisung’s so that they could stay together? How much was he willing to sacrifice for a few stolen moments in a reality which was supposed to exist without him?

Truthfully told,

everything.

Minho was willing to give everything for Jisung but he knew it would’ve never worked out. And although he wanted to blame the bride and the families, he couldn’t. He had no right to sneak around with a married man. And so he pulled himself as far away from the only love he ever had so they could go on with their lives in peace. To end their shared pain as quickly as possible. He intended to forget Jisung and he knew Jisung would do the same with him as soon as he was gone for good. Intending to destroy everything that reminded him of Jisung, hoping that one day what they had would just be the ashes of what once was, blown away by the wind. But as the past four years come to prove, there was no way of erasing something that you subconsciously still cherish so much. Even the little unexpected things in your daily life remind you of what no longer exists, bringing back fragments you've tried burying away for ages. 

And as Minho sat there, looking at the only remaining picture of Jisung he still owned. He didn’t have the heart to throw it away since the photograph also included his friends from the publishing house. He kept the photo tucked away, not daring to look at it for years until now. He remembered how much he missed Korea and all those familiar faces. He often wished he could go back in time and have none of this happen. But as much as his heart still ached, there was a part of him that was beginning to accept, beginning to once again find peace in this moment. In today.

He had a good life in Italy. In this little fishing village, he felt like he only lived one continuous summer. He made money from selling poetry and calligraphy works. After learning the Latin alphabet he could use his neat writing skills for profit. Copying down existing written works with his own added artistic twist, and even distributing his own original writings. Although he knew the locals didn’t read Korean, he still gladly shared his works with them knowing that the foreign alphabet looked like an intricate drawing to Europeans. He didn’t make it his goal to become friendly with anybody here. He simply lived day by day, years rolling by without him ever having any specific intentions of what he wanted to do with his future. He enjoyed the simple company of his three cats and being surrounded by a language he didn’t fully understand. He had built something new here, something that was completely his own. Something that didn’t depend on what once was or on what was to come. He could simply exist.

He took one last glance at the photograph and wondered if Jisung still thought about him. Did Jisung still feel the same as they once had? Had Jisung ever found out where he was? Had Jisung even tried looking for him?

Stashing the photo to the back of his shelf behind stacks of books and writing materials, Minho walked over to his desk where his most recent poem laid. Lines of nearly incoherent scribble on a lifeless piece of paper holding so much meaning. The street outside was still quiet. Minho grabbed the poem and made his way out of the door.

——

**October 1975.**

2:39 am on a Sunday. Minho was sitting by the kitchen counter in cozy silence on a high stool, drinking his usual beverage of choice, apple-cinnamon tea while scribbling down ideas for a poem. He hadn’t gotten much sleep that night because his mind was busy creating but loose sentences and incoherent thoughts floated around his head without knowing how to fit them together.

Suddenly a pair of arms snuck around his waist snapping him out of his jumbled mess of thoughts. Familiar lips planting a kiss on the back of his neck.

The younger man had started sleeping over at Minho’s place during the weekends. Since they were so busy during the week and couldn’t show affection towards each other in public spaces, that only left the weekends for them to spend together. Seeming like mere coworkers five days out of seven each week but leaving together on Fridays. And the moment Minho’s front door clicked shut they kissed till they were out of breath.

They slept late on Saturday mornings waking up in each other’s arms and spending the day together, being so deeply lost in their bottomless love and lust towards each other, but only behind closed doors. Sunday was always filled with sorrow knowing that they would once again be nothing more than distant friends until the next Friday evening.

Minho often felt sleepless after Saturday. Maybe a part of him hoped that if he never went to sleep Saturday would last forever. Sunday would never come and neither would Monday.

Jisung was now resting his chin on Minho’s shoulder letting out a tired huff. “Poetry keeping you awake?”

“Hmmm.” Minho hummed in response.

“Come to bed. It’s cold and lonely without you there.”

Minho’s heart swelled with fondness, loosening Jisung’s arms just enough to swivel the chair around to return the hug, snuggling his head under Jisung’s chin. The younger cradled his gentle fingers through Minho’s hair.

“I wish tomorrow never came.” Minho muffled into Jisung’s shirt that smells like home. That comforting scent that made Minho feel like he was safe.

“Me too. Who knows, maybe someday it won’t.”

“But wouldn’t that mean that nothing ever came? Once today ends then there’s nothing in front nor behind us anymore. Wouldn’t that just be the end of everything?”

“Maybe… I don’t know when such things begin and others end but I do know that right in this moment I want to cuddle up next to you and go back to sleep. Even if tomorrow did come, at least I’d get that moment with you.” Jisung’s movements have slowed down, still mindlessly twirling Minho’s brown locks in his fingers but nearly falling asleep standing up.

Minho chuckled before standing up and carrying Jisung away. The latter clinging onto Minho, letting himself be dragged back to bed by his lover.

A half-empty cup of tea left on the table. Minho would worry about it the following morning. All that mattered at that moment was the only love he had ever known, right there in his arms.

Little did he know, that was the last night the two ever slept with their bodies comfortably pressed against each other. Falling asleep to the sound of each other's calm breathing.

Two days later, Felix called.

——

**July 1979.**

Walking his way through the village bathing in the early morning sun. Minho thought about how much he had lost because of Jisung but also how much he had gained. He was starting to accept the fact that he will never get back what he once had but at least he had once loved. As much as he wanted to forget, he also cherished every moment he had ever shared with Jisung.

Walking up to the highest point in the village, a cliff overlooking the bay below. Minho kneeled on the grassy edge looking at the sea crashing against rocks below. He pulled out his poem and read through the lines one last time.

_You’re like honey_

_In my apple-cinnamon tea._

_Yet it doesn’t taste sweet,_

_But sour,_

_Bitter,_

_Unpleasant._

_Since I was a child_

_I’ve sipped on apple-cinnamon tea_

_But I had no honey._

_One gets used to the lukewarm water_

_With hints of fruit and winter,_

_But once one experiences the perfect sweetness_

_Of their first spoon of honey,_

_I engulf it till I get sick._

_Once the sweetness was so perfect_

_But now it’s something I hope_

_To never taste again._

_Though my cup is now empty_

_The sorrowful sweet taste lingers._

_You, the honey in my apple-cinnamon tea._

_Sour,_

_Bitter,_

_Unpleasant._

For the first time, he smiles down at his work.

Folding down one corner at a time, Minho makes a small paper airplane.

Tossing his pain into the open ocean, watching the small airplane fly away beyond the horizon, carried further and further away by the wind.

On his way back he imagined that the small airplane somehow found its way to Jisung. He hoped that the latter still remembered, still cared, but was okay with where life lead the two of them. Minho hoped that somewhere in Seoul, Jisung was happy and could also breathe in the salty breeze when he visited the ocean, drank morning coffee on his balcony while watching the sun set and paint the sky pink, and maybe, just maybe hummed the tune of ‘ _White Mustang_ ’ while driving down a long road under the stars and street lights.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry about the sad ending. I don’t know why I always hurt these two in my fics even though I love them to the moon and back. I just knew that if I tried to force a positive narrative it would throw off the entire mood right in the end. Anyhow, thank you for reading this. It means a lot. I hope you enjoyed it. <3


End file.
